


Finally

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Tumblr Fics [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jealous!John, Jealousy, John is not Happy, Other, Sherlock is oblivious, Unrequited Love, one sided affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's friend Victor Trevor stops by uninvited, and John isn't happy. He hates everything about Victor, but that's not what bothers him the most. What bothers him the most is that he's slowly realized that he might have feelings for Sherlock, and Victor might be in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zain/gifts).



> Initial prompt: Zain: Well, what about John meeting Victor Trevor? And feeling a bit left out because Sherlock and Victor get along great.
> 
> ______________________________________________________
> 
> This series contains a stand alone stories that were prompted or otherwise posted on my tumblr page. They have not been beta'd and are just flights of fancy.
> 
> Feel free to let me know if you see any mistakes.

John came home one night after surgery to find a man sprawled out on their sofa. His mud stained shoes hung off the side, and one of his arms was draped over his head. From the snoring, he was asleep and not, well, dead. That was always a possibility with bodies at Baker Street. There was a bag by his hand and his clothes were threadbare. John pulled out his phone and took a picture of him, before firing it off to Sherlock.

 

**_Client? JW_ **

****

The reply was immediate:

 

**_No. Let him sleep. Just flew in from Egypt. SH_ **

 

John frowned at the answer. It hadn’t been what he’d expected, but he was sure Sherlock had something planned. He didn’t seem overly surprised by the stranger’s presence.

****

**_Did you know he was coming? JW_ **

****

**_No. SH_ **

****

One day, John would have to teach Sherlock to say more than what he found to be patently obvious. Details were also important.

 

**_How’d he get in? JW_ **

****

**_Front door. Ask Mrs. Hudson. SH_ **

****

**_Are you coming back? JW_ **

****

**_Busy. Molly has the plague. SH_ **

****

**_What about your client? JW_ **

****

**_Not a client. SH_ **

Before John could tap out a reply, Sherlock sent another response.

****

**_What about him? SH_ **

****

**_What am I supposed to do with him? JW_ **

****

**_Nothing. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Don’t let him tell you otherwise. SH_ **

****

**_Sherlock, come back here and deal with this. JW_ **

****

**_Busy. SH_ **

****

**_Sherlock! JW_ **

 

There was no reply, and John scowled. Shoving the phone in his pocket he gave the man on his sofa an appraising look before he sighed and walked to the kitchen. There wasn’t much by the way of food, but he and Sherlock had struck an uneasy compromise regarding tea. Sherlock wouldn’t run any experiments on the tea equipment, and in return: John wouldn’t bin everything he saw whenever he went into the kitchen for a snack.

 

He was just about finished preparing himself a cuppa, when he heard movement in the other room. “Bee?” A groggy voice called out. “You back?” John frowned and walked to the door between the two rooms. The man on the couch was rubbing at his eyes and looked up when he heard John approach. “Oh, Christ, sorry mate. You must be John. Yeah?”

 

“Um…yeah.” John nodded, still trying to get his bearings right. “And you are?”

 

“Bloody bastard.” The man shook his head as he grumbled. “Victor, Victor Trevor. Nice to meet you. Sherlock hasn’t said a word about me, has he?” Victor asked, standing up and stretching his back.

 

“Not as such…no.” John replied, watching as Victor reached down and scooped up his bag.

 

“I’m a friend of Sherlock’s.”

 

“Friend?” Sherlock didn’t have friends. He had people he used and manipulated, but friends weren’t on the table for people like Sherlock. Half the time John wondered if Sherlock even understood the meaning of the word.

 

“Yeah, friend.” Victor confirmed as he nudged passed John into the kitchen. He continued on down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom and trodded through the open door without even the slightest hesitation. He tossed his bag onto Sherlock’s bed.

 

“H-hang on a minute. You can’t just go in there.” John said walking around the counter to follow Victor. The man was pulling his shirt off and tossing it in Sherlock’s laundry bin by his desk. His chest and arms were covered in tattoos, all carefully hidden away so that an average shirt could hide it. “Hold on-”

 

“It’s fine.” Victor told him as he pulled open one of the bottom drawers in Sherlock bureau. Sherlock kept the few T-shirts he owned in there, and Victor snagged one out to tug on.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Borrowing, he won’t mind.”

 

“Yes, he will mind. He doesn’t like it when people just touch his things. No get out.” John turned and pointed towards the sitting room, though if he were honest he really meant for Victor to get out of the flat completely. Victor blinked at him in surprise.

 

“Look, John, Sherlock doesn’t mind I promise-”

 

“Out!” Scowling, Victor did as he was told, marching passed John. He was practically stomping as he did so, and sat mutinously in the kitchen, arms crossed. “Now, what are you doing here?” John congratulated himself on how his voice sounded. Very level and calm.

 

“I popped in for a visit.” Victor said, practically seething the word out.

 

“Sherlock said he didn’t know you were coming.”

 

“Oh? You’ve spoken to Sherlock have you? Well why don’t you text him and tell him that I’m going to be borrowing some clothes from his drawer for a while, yeah?” John felt anger and frustration rolling through his veins as he glared at the man. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and he furiously started typing.

 

**_He says his name is Victor Trevor and he’s your friend. JW_ **

****

**_He’s also a twat, and wants to borrow some clothes. JW_ **

****

He slammed the phone down on the counter, and Victor followed it with his eyes. His jaw was clenching tight, and his fingers started to pick at his nails on his left hand. It was a disgusting habit.

 

A soft beep alerted them that Sherlock had replied, and John looked down at the screen.

 

**_Let him. SH_ **

****

It took John a few moments to process what he’d read, and before he could say anything Victor had huffed loudly and slid off his stool. He was half way to Sherlock’s bedroom, before John knew what to do. This time, he slammed the door shut behind him.

 

**_Get back here. JW_ **

****

**_Busy. SH_ **

****

**_NOW. JW_ **

****

**_What could possibly be more important than plague, John? SH_ **

****

**_Get back here and deal with you ‘friend’ or I’m throwing him out. JW_ **

****

There were a few moments of radio silence, just enough time for Victor to have apparently finished changing and open the Sherlock’s door again. John looked up. The visitor was obviously furious about something, and he’d pulled his bag back over his Sherlock-shirt-clad shoulder.

 

“Tell him I’ll meet him at Bart’s.” Victor spat at him, before going out the side kitchen door and straight down the stairs.

 

**_NVM. He’s going to Bart’s. JW_ **

****

**_What on earth did you do? SH_ **

****

**_Nothing! JW_ **

****

**_That’s hardly the case. You must have done something. SH_ **

****

John wasn’t sure why it was his fault all of a sudden, but Sherlock’s words smarted some. He tossed the phone back on the counter and was determined to ignore it for the rest of the night. Throwing himself into his chair, he flicked on the television and glared at the screen.

 

Two hours on he had no idea what he was watching, but he didn’t really care. He was just glad that Victor Fucking Trevor had gone. He went upstairs to bed and was determined to wake up with a more positive attitude. It couldn’t be that hard.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning John descended the stairs to voices in the kitchen. He frowned slightly and yawned, scratching the back of his head. He paused just long enough to confirm it wasn’t a client on the other side of the door, and he scowled when he recognized who Sherlock was talking to.

 

“They _say_ they have tea in Egypt, but really they’re lying.” Victor Fucking Trevor was saying. John could hear a water pouring, and for some reason his blood thrummed violently at the thought. He shoved open the kitchen door. Victor was standing at the counter, pouring himself his tea, and wearing Sherlock’s dressing gown.

 

Sherlock was by the fridge, shoving aside toes and blood samples to pull out some jam that hadn’t been contaminated yet. When he stood up straight, John could just make out a black chord of a necklace that was tucked under Sherlock’s shirt. “Morning John.” Sherlock offered as he turned around.

 

“You’re eating?” John asked, looking at the jam he’d retrieved.

 

“Victor is.” Sherlock replied, motioning towards Victor who wiggled his fingers in hello. John forced a smile and nodded his head.

 

“Right.” He said, keeping the smile placed firmly on his face as he tried to reason out what he was going to say now.

 

“John, is everything all right? You’re looking a bit…” Sherlock trailed off, brows furrowing as he strived for the appropriate adjective.

 

“Constipated?” Victor offered, taking a sip of his tea.

 

“I was going to say ‘pent up,’ but that might-”

 

“Right. All right. Fine. Sherlock, can I have a word?” John asked, reaching out to take hold of Sherlock’s arm and practically dragging him towards Sherlock’s bedroom. He shut the door behind them, and then whirled about to face his friend. Which is when he noticed Victor’s boots by Sherlock’s bed. “What-did he _sleep_ here last night?”

 

“Yes.” Sherlock said, still looking as though he hadn’t a clue what John was upset about. “Is that a problem?”

 

“What, some strange man from out of town comes flying in and suddenly is just spending the night? That’s what hotels are for!”

 

“He isn’t strange to me, I’ve known him for nearly twenty years.” John’s mouth fell open. He paused, blinking rapidly for a moment.

 

“You’ve _never_ mentioned him before.”

 

“I’ve also never mentioned my parents, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” Sherlock pointed out easily.

 

“What-your parents are still alive?” John hadn’t expected that.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock drawled the word out like John was being particularly slow, and then shook his head. “Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine. It’s just, can’t you just tell me first? Before you start inviting age old friends over without even letting me know? I mean, he just came in acting like he owns the place, and what am I supposed to think?” John was having a hard time keeping his eyes from going back to the shoes by Sherlock’s bed.

 

“I don’t know. You’ve invited girlfriends over without conferring with me, I hadn’t thought Victor would be unduly problematic.” Sherlock informed him.

 

“It’s not problematic, and he’s not your girlfriend.”

 

“No, I’m fairly sure he doesn’t have the appropriate equipment to be considered my girlfriend.”

 

“Jesus Sherlock, you know what I mean!” Whatever Sherlock’s reply was going to be, was cut off by his phone alerting him to an incoming text. Sherlock answered it, reading the information before glancing at John.

 

“Lestrade. Case. Coming?” He asked promptly.

 

“Yeah, of course. Where?”

 

“Brixton.” Sherlock replied, tossing his phone onto his bureau and pulling open a drawer to remove his clothes for the day.

 

“I’ll go get ready.” John said, turning to leave. He was halfway up the stairs to his room when he heard Sherlock yell:

 

“Victor! You’re coming to Brixton, get dressed.”

 

John was not impressed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock and Victor chattered the entire way to Brixton. Not about the case, not about anything remotely relevant, no. They chattered about decomposition, about dung beetles, and even about plants. It was enough to drive anyone barmy.

 

John was half expecting Donovan to turn Victor away like she’d tried to do the first night that they’d met, but when the three of them came walking up to the tape she’d merely sent them a glorious smile. “Victor! Back home then, are you?” She asked.

 

Victor slid gracefully under the tape and gave Sally a kiss on each cheek. “Just for a visit, dropping off some research at the University, pulled in for a guest lecture actually, then flying back down to where I belong. Keeping this lot out of trouble are you?” He motioned towards Sherlock and John who had walked right passed them to get to the door. Sally rolled her eyes.

 

“As bad as ever he is.” It was the kindest thing John had ever heard Sally say, and Victor grinned.

 

“Well you keep him on his toes then, hm? Best be off, or I’ll miss all the fun.” With a happy wave towards the Sergeant, he skipped a few steps to fall into line behind them. “She still sweet on me?” He asked Sherlock.

 

“She’s having an affair with Anderson.”

 

“What? _No_. Not that pillock. Really?”

 

“Apparently her standards haven’t wavered a bit.” Sherlock replied. John laughed at the joke, and Victor did as well- entirely untroubled by the words.

 

Lestrade met them just before they reached the body, and his eyes went straight to Victor. “When’d you get in?” He asked, forgoing his usual dissertation of what they’d learned thus far in order to pull Victor in for a hug. Victor returned it enthusiastically, even going so far as to lean back and lift the older man up somewhat. Lestrade pat his back good naturedly, and John wondered if _everyone_ knew about Victor Fucking Trevor Perfect Hair.

 

“Just last night, kipping over at Baker Street with Sherlock. How’re the girls?”

 

“Good, big. You going to have time to stop by and see them?”

 

“Sure, got presents for them each.”

 

“Nothing living this time?”

 

“No more pups, I’m afraid. Couldn’t get them on the plane. I’m restricted to boring old fashioned presents.” Victor had perfect teeth, John realized suddenly. All straight and pearly white. It was unsettling.

 

 “It’s not boring if it comes from Egypt, least that’s what my girls say. Swing round before you shove off.”

 

“Will do, boss.” Victor nodded giving a mock salute before Lestrade turned his attention back to Sherlock.

 

He gave a quick run through of the case thus far. Husband and wife found dead in their bed, arms crossed over their chests and flower petals on their lips. They were fully clothed and resting above the covers.

 

Sherlock was practically bouncing as he slipped into the appropriate room. John followed him, ready to watch Sherlock’s deductions. Victor slipped in just afterwards. He put his hands in his pockets and didn’t interrupt Sherlock’s flow once while they were there. For all intents and purposes, he was being rather respectful.

 

John licked his teeth as Sherlock leaned over the female victim. He checked her hair, her face for make up, the type of flower ( _forget-me-not),_ the kind of soap she was had last used, the state of her nails. Neither she nor her husband had defensive wounds on them.

 

“Brilliant.” John declared when Sherlock determined that the killer had to be a family member or close relation that felt abandoned by the couple. The body display was there for religious purposes, in hopes that they both ascended to heaven.

 

Sherlock collected some samples to track down specifically _who_ had been responsible for it, and hurried out the door without another word. John rushed after him, skipping down the stairs as he strained to catch up with him. Sherlock had already hailed a cab by the time he’d made it out the door, and he just managed to slip inside before it pulled off the curb.

 

John glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t help but smiling somewhat when he saw Victor wandering out onto the street and looking around. Sitting straight, he looked to Sherlock. “Where to next?”

 

“Bart’s.” Sherlock replied, pulling out his phone and tapping away rapidly.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Molly greeted them with a friendly smile, and Sherlock hummed a greeting before diving onto his microscope. John looked around the room with interest, wondering how he was going to occupy himself now. He looked over to Molly and wandered over.

 

“Heard you had the plague yesterday.”

 

“Oh! Yes, it just came in from the research division for the students.” Molly agreed, smiling brightly. “How’s Victor? I’m surprised he’s not with you.”

 

“You know Victor too?” John asked, wondering if _everyone_ knew him.

 

“Sure, we went to University together.” Molly said. “Sherlock and Victor were a few years ahead, but Victor was a tutor for the human studies.”

 

“Human studies?”

 

“They were supplemental to my course.” Molly told him brightly. “We were friends.”

 

“So…that’s why you let Sherlock in here? You went to University together?”

 

“Partly, yes.” Molly nodded. “Victor moved to Egypt after University, and he comes up to visit every few years or so. I think they trade off, last year Sherlock went down for a month.”

 

“A month?” He couldn’t imagine Sherlock taking a break from cases for a month.

 

“Yeah, Victor sent me a photo…hang on…” She pulled out her phone and started to flick through her album until she found the one she was looking for. She angled the phone for John to see and he looked down at it curiously.

 

Sherlock was wearing the same kind of threadbare clothes that Victor had worn that first night. His curly hair was longer than it was now, and his bangs were pinned back out of his face by what looked like a pink hair tie. He was kneeling over something, brushing sand off with his fingers. He was kneeling there with the same interest and determination as he had on any case, and John could hardly believe what he was looking at.  

 

“The first time he went he came back with the skull, though I don’t think he was supposed to bring it home.” Molly admitted.

 

“So…they’re friends then. Good friends?”

 

“Well, they aught to be they’re-” The door opened to the lab, and Victor slipped in. He was balancing a carrier of hot drinks on one hand and a bag of something in the other. Setting the drinks down by Sherlock’s arm, he pulled one out of the carrier and nudged it to Sherlock’s hand.

 

Sherlock didn’t outwardly react, and Victor didn’t seem to care. Instead he brought the rest of the drinks and bag over. “Molly-mouse, coffee?” He offered as he rotated the tray towards her.

 

“Oh! Yes, thank you!” She said, blushing darkly as she carefully removed her drink. Victor nodded to her and then offered John the last drink.

 

“Sherlock said that you don’t take sugar.” He told John with a shrug.

 

“Oh, cheers, thanks.” John replied, taking the drink.

 

“I’ve got biscuits too.” Victor lifted the bag up. “Figured it’d be a waiting game for a while in any case.”

 

“Oh, thank you!” Molly said, smiling brightly. “I actually have to get back to work, so I can’t stay.”

 

“No problem, come round for dinner sometime before I leave, yeah?”

 

“Okay!” She waved goodbye and hurried towards the door. John watched her go miserably, and lifted his eyes to look at Victor. He didn’t seem to mind that he’d been left behind, and his posture was rather relaxed. He opened the bag and started to pull out his biscuits, chomping away at them with almost sinful pleasure.

 

“Don’t have these in Egypt.” He moaned around one, and John felt his nose twitch slightly as he thought about it. “Might have to come back more often, just for these.”

 

“More often?” John asked, praying his nerves didn’t show.

 

“Mmhmm…maybe once a month. I’m sure Mycroft could foot the bill.” Of course Victor-Fucking-Trevor-Perfect-Hair-Perfect-Teeth-I-have-a-PhD-and-Lives-in-Egypt knew Mycroft well enough to get him to foot a bill for a transcontinental flight every month. Victor’s lips twitched upwards in amusement. “What do you think, Bee?” He asked looking over his shoulder towards Sherlock. “Think I should come up once a month?”

 

“Quit antagonizing John.” Sherlock informed him blandly. John could have kissed his friend for the response. Victor just laughed.

 

“Whatever you say, Bee.”

 

Apparently Victor-Fucking-Trevor-Perfect-Hair-Perfect-Teeth-I-have-a-PhD-and-Lives-in-Egypt had a nickname for Sherlock.

 

Apparently Sherlock didn’t mind.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock wrapped up his case in near record time, and then they all returned to Baker Street together. John watched them, shoulders hunched up and progressively more and more frustrated as time went by. Victor made jokes about things that Sherlock clearly understood and laughed about, but passed John right on by.

 

Victor became intimately familiar with their flat, and seemed to have no trouble whatsoever with considering it ‘home.’ He draped himself over furniture, helped himself to what little food John purchased, made endless cups of tea, and even made use of their laundry.

 

By the third day of his visit, John was about ready to murder him. Sherlock, great intellect that he was, couldn’t seem to work out that Victor wasn’t welcome, and was more than willing to ignore the fact his presence was grating on John’s nerves. Every morning John woke up, and he walked down the stairs to listen to Victor’s exuberant voice talking _endlessly_ about whatever it was he liked to talk about.

 

It was driving John round the bend.

 

The few moments that John got alone with Sherlock were filled with fumbling attempts to explain. “He’s eating all the food.”

 

“Surely not all of it.”

 

“Sherlock, he doesn’t even pay for anything, he’s costing us a fortune.”

 

“Why are you so concerned about this? It’s not as though he’s done anything particularly offensive.”

 

“Offensive? We’re out of jam and there’s only two more bags left of tea!”

 

“A crime in any proper British household, clearly.” Sherlock nodded his head slowly. “Shall I send him out to the shops though? No Tesco’s in Egypt either, he’ll likely find it a delightful experience.”

 

“Look. No. It’s fine. I’ll do it. When is he leaving?”

 

“I haven’t asked.” Sherlock shrugged. “Should I have done?”

 

“Yes!” John insisted. “And what about you? He’s been kipping in your bed, so where’ve you been sleeping?”

 

“In my bed.” Sherlock replied, drawing out the words carefully.

 

“You’re sleeping together.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What…like sex?” John tried to imagine what Sherlock would be like in bed. Curls cascading down his face, cupid bow lips parted perfectly, face flushed, flawless voice gasping and moaning with pleasure. The fantasy was ruined by the thought of Victor-Fucking-Trevor-Perfect-Hair-Perfect-Teeth-I-have-a-PhD-and-Lives-in-Egypt-and-has-a-Pet-Name-for-Sherlock running his hands over Sherlock’s body instead.

 

“John, when I said I was married to my work, I hope you understand that I did mean it literally. I truly am not interested in-”

 

“ _That’s not what I’m saying!_ ” John insisted, shaking his head. “Look. Just. When is he leaving?”

 

“I don’t know.” Sherlock replied honestly. Then, the daft bastard, stepped around John and called down the hall: “Victor, when are you returning to Egypt?”

 

“The seventh!” Victor called back.

 

Four more days. John didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

 

Sherlock, still, didn’t seem to notice.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Victor did actually go out and buy food to replace what he’d eaten. He also started taking Sherlock out to eat constantly, and John was never invited along. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to go and spend more time with the man, but it stung a little that he was so easily replaced. He took to texting Lestrade, almost begging for a case that would interrupt the outings. The domesticity was nauseating.

 

**_What’s the deal with Victor? JW_ **

****

**_What do you mean? GL_ **

****

**_He and Sherlock are close. Right? You know him well? JW_ **

****

John half hoped that Lestrade would finally tell him there was something to be truly, truly, upset about. That, he realized, was what bugged him the most. Victor had been nothing but polite for the most part. Aside from his initial frustration when he arrived, he hadn’t said one thing out of turn around John. Everyone loved him, Sherlock clearly enjoyed his presence, and not one person had anything discouraging to say. He was _bloody perfect_ , and John hated him.

 

**_Reasonably. He’s a good lad. GL_ **

****

**_What’s he really like though? Any vices? JW_ **

****

**_Why are you asking? GL_ **

****

**_He and Sherlock spend a lot of time together alone. Sherlock’s acting odd. I’m concerned. JW_ **

****

It perhaps wasn’t the _nicest_ thing in the world to accuse someone of drugs, but there had to be something there. If this didn’t work out, then Lestrade might divulge something else. There was always something.

 

**_Victor left Sherlock because he was doing drugs to begin with. Sherlock’s always acting odd. Don’t be concerned. GL_ **

****

**_Were they a couple? JW_ **

 

He almost didn’t want to know the answer to that. Molly seemed to think there was something deeper to their relationship, and John was grasping at straws by this point.

 

**_Thought you weren’t gay. GL_ **

****

**_That’s not what I said! I’m just wondering! JW_ **

****

**_Leave it alone, John. They’re close, they’ve been through hell together, just leave it at that. GL_ **

****

**_I’m not gay. JW_ **

****

Lestrade didn’t write back, and John scowled. “I’m not.” He muttered to himself, prior to going up to his room. Sherlock came home late again that night, and John listened to him walking up the stairs, talking to Victor about something and laughing at whatever the response was. He rolled over and willed himself to sleep. “It doesn’t matter.” John told himself firmly.

 

That night, he dreamed of a lithe body pressed underneath him as he sucked a bruise onto its neck. It was only when he looked up, did he realize that it was Sherlock he was pinning down.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The seventh couldn’t come fast enough, and when the day finally arrived, John could barely suppress his glee. Victor was tugging his boots on, and was _finally_ wearing his own clothes again. Sherlock was in the kitchen working on an experiment, not seeming to notice that his guest was getting ready to walk out the door.

 

“Gonna give me a kiss goodbye, Bee?” Victor asked as he pulled his bag over his shoulder.

 

“Have a safe flight.” Sherlock told him, not looking up from his notebook and continuing to write his observations down. Victor rolled his eyes and gave John a look of almost companionable understanding. John forced a smile.

 

“Yes, come by anytime.” He forced himself to say politely. Victor snorted.

 

“Sure thing, John. And feel free to join Sherlock when he comes to Egypt to see me.” Victor offered, holding out his hand. John shook it firmly and then released.

 

“It sounds fascinating.”

 

“It is.” Victor agreed. “Bye Bee- don’t forget to eat!” He called out to the kitchen.

 

“Go.” Sherlock replied, tossing a hand in the air and making a shooing motion. It would have been very dismissive had John not seen the amused smile on his face.

 

The rest of the day passed in silence. Sherlock worked on his experiments, and John watched the telly. It felt empty and quiet without Victor there, and John reveled in it. A couple of times he glanced into the kitchen to look at Sherlock watch him while he worked. Once, he’d needed to adjust himself a bit since his mind kept slipping back to the constant dreams he’d been plagued with lately.

 

“Sherlock…” John started, wondering how he should phrase it.

 

“John, when I said I wasn’t interested, I really meant it.” Sherlock informed him, not looking up from his microscope. The rejection hurt.

 

“I wasn’t going to-”

 

“Yes. You were.” His long fingers moved to rotate the adjusters and he squinted slightly to get a better look. “I do mean this very sincerely. I am not, and will not ever be, in a position to return your affections in that way. You are my friend, John, and if that is not enough…” He sighed slightly and finally looked up. “If that is not enough then please let me know.”

 

John wasn’t sure how things got so out of hand, he really wasn’t, but he quickly shook his head. “It’s enough.” He told Sherlock firmly. Then, because he knew they needed to change the subject quickly, he asked: “Why does he call you ‘Bee?’”

 

Sherlock’s face shifted to that fond indulging expression he’d worn for most of Victor’s time there. Prior, John had trouble exactly identifying it. Now, he saw it for what it was. _Happiness_. Sherlock had been truly happy to have his friend there. “When we were younger, I spent a summer at his family home. His parents owned bees. I…liked them. He told me that I spent so much time watching them, following them, studying them, and memorizing them, that I might as well be considered an honorary member of the hive. He’s called me that ever since.”

 

“How old were you?”

 

“Nineteen.” John nodded, trying to imagine Sherlock at nineteen. “I would appreciate it if you never called me that.” Sherlock asked, face turning puzzled as though he was trying to work out _why_ exactly it would bother him.

 

“I won’t.” John promised.

 

It didn’t seem right. That was Victor’s name for Sherlock, and if John ever did manage to get to that point with the detective, he’d want to use his own name. Who knew, maybe Sherlock might change his mind? But until then…there was always Jeannette.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Got a prompt you want filled? Want to just say hi? Let me know!
> 
> falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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